Better With You
by pinkskyline
Summary: Mickey wasn't sure he could let Ian have sex with him as a way to confirm his commitment to some jerk Mickey had barely even met; though being with Ian again, even only for one night, was pretty much irresistible to him. God knows Mickey had never really had much luck saying no to Ian Gallagher.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: Fighting and rough, unprotected sex. Kind of all at the same time. As befits Mickey and Ian. Oh and lots and lots of swearing.**

 **Author's Note: Okay, so I've written way too many Ian/Mickey stories. This one was actually written before season 6 started and there's 3 chapters, although I think chapter one stands on its own.**

 **Season 6 aside: As much as I try to like Caleb, he's just so so _so_ boring. I mean, Ian was paired with probably one of the most interesting fictional TV characters ever written (up there with Omar Little from _The Wire_ ) and then after him, he's paired with like this pedantic do-gooding guy who lectures Ian all the time about how to act like a yuppie. I hate him even though I'm really trying not to. Are we supposed to like him? I can't even tell. I can't even tell if Ian likes him. So I wrote this before I had the dubious joy of meeting Caleb, but Chris is pretty much exactly like Caleb, so I could probably change his name to Caleb and no one would think anything of it. **

**Note about my depiction of Bipolar: It is mainly based on the way it is discussed on the show, not any research or personal experience. So hopefully it is not offensive to anyone.**

Mickey had a drink in the Alibi every once and a while, but his days of sitting on the sofa at his house drinking beer until he passed out were long over. And he couldn't say he missed those days, normally. Which wasn't to say that he wouldn't welcome oblivion right now.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's an engagement ring," Ian said.

"Pretty fuckin' girly, don't you think?" Mickey said. He wasn't exactly a style guru himself, but it was a fucking man-gagement ring with a diamond. He'd been around gay culture enough these days to know that it was indeed, pretty fuckin' girly, even for what it was.

"I like it," Ian said. He looked at it critically, twisting his left hand around so that the small diamond sparkled. He looked up and seemed to note Kev's sceptical look and Mickey's open distaste, and shrugged. "The ring isn't important. I'm getting married. That's what matters."

"I guess," Mickey said. "Fuckin' ring makes you look like the little woman in the relationship, though. You marrying some sugar daddy?"

"No. I mean, he's a bit older, but we're within a decade of each other," Ian said. "It's Chris. You've met Chris. And he does okay but he's not a millionaire or anything."

"Why you getting married if you're both so young and fancy fuckin' free?" Mickey said.

"Why do you care?" Ian said. He took a swig of his beer. He was on bipolar medication these days so drank his beer slowly out of a juice glass, and he confined himself to one or two little glasses a night. After several years of this, the rest of the Alibi patrons had _almost_ stopped ribbing him about it.

"We're friends, aren't we?" Mickey asked.

They were, although they weren't _good_ friends anymore. The distance created by Ian breaking up with Mickey and Mickey spending nearly four years in jail for what he'd done to Sammy had allowed them to get past any resentment they'd felt towards each other about their former relationship. They got together sometimes to hang out, watch movies and shit, but they'd never really talked about or discussed what had gone wrong with them. And neither one of them was good at listening to the other talk about the guy they were seeing, so they worked more as acquaintances than friends.

Mickey and Svetlana had gotten a divorce as soon as Svetlana had become a citizen. They were pretty friendly now. Svetlana liked that Mickey had gotten job training in prison, worked as an electrician, paid his child support on time and brought Yev back from their weekends together alive and happy; Mickey liked that Svetlana wasn't a whore anymore, was a good mom, and stayed out of his business.

"Being married sucks, man," Mickey said. "Being divorced however, is fuckin' awesome. If you do get married, I recommend you get divorced as soon as it's feasible to do so."

"How would you know? You've never been married to someone you _wanted_ to be married to. Might be different, then," Ian said.

Mickey shrugged. He couldn't help but remember when he and Ian had been 'ghetto' married. It had been pretty perfect, in a lot of ways. But then he'd been fooling himself, hadn't he? He'd been the only one in that relationship who had really wanted it to work. Mickey had been so in love and Ian hadn't cared enough to even stay faithful, let alone stick around. Mickey hadn't really been surprised when the other shoe had dropped, though. No one like Ian Gallagher could ever love someone like him for long.

"Gotta get going. Work in the morning," Mickey said.

"You're killing me, Mickey. Your family used to spend thousands in this bar. Now you're the only one who comes in and I'm lucky to sell you one beer a week. Tell me you're not doing all your drinking in some fancy gay speakeasy or something," Kev said.

"I do trivia night with some friends in Boystown once a week, Kev, but other than that, you've got my complete loyalty. Just don't drink like I used to," Mickey said. "Don't want to end up like my old man."

Neither of them would look Mickey in the eye. He wasn't sure why; Terry had come at him in prison and they'd gotten into it; Terry had gone down, hit his head, become comatose and later died. So he'd kind of killed his own dad. What the fuck ever. It's not like Terry was worth crying over. Mickey was just glad it had happened almost as soon as he'd arrived in the prison, so everyone had thought he was tough shit and he hadn't had to watch his ass the whole time he'd been inside. Most openly gay guys in prison, especially little dudes like him, had it a whole lot worse than he'd had it. There'd been witnesses who'd seen that he hadn't killed Terry intentionally so he hadn't had to serve too much additional time because of it, and surprisingly, his brothers were still talking to him.

Mickey pretty much called the entire thing a win, at least in the privacy of his own head.

"Trivia night in Boystown?" Ian asked. "Who _are_ you?"

Mickey had long-since stopped caring if Ian or anyone else found him bad-ass enough. He took one last swig of his beer, slammed the bottle on the bar, and said, "Later, losers."

He'd been home a couple of hours when he heard his doorbell.

He let Ian in and went to get him a beer, then rethought it. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"Well aren't you Miss Manners," Ian smirked.

"Is there some reason you got to put me down for being nice, Ian? Yeah, I fuckin' changed. I know I'm different now. You don't need to comment on it all the fucking time," Mickey said.

Ian seemed to pale at his words, then cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to be mean," he said. "I actually came to ask you a favor. Should I even bother or are you too pissed at me?"

Mickey shrugged. "What's the favor?"

Ian twisted the diamond on his finger. "I'm not sure I want to get married. It's like, Chris is great. We've lived together for a while. He has a good job. I take care of the house and work my shitty job. We've made plans, you know? We might travel, or maybe adopt a kid from China. Things are really great between us."

Mickey sighed. "Yeah, you know, I assumed as much when I saw the ring on your finger. So what's the favor?

"Well, like I said, things are really great between Chris and me. And I mean, our sex life is awesome—"

"Ian, tell me the fuckin' favor or get out."

"I'm not trying to hurt you by saying this. I mean, the only thing that's keeping me from saying yes to Chris is that…I…nothing seems to hold a candle to the way it was between you and me. Hanging out. Scamming people. Raising Yevgeny together. And Jesus Christ. The sex."

Mickey smiled slightly. "First love and all that. Probably if we could go back in time the way we lived back then would horrify us, you know?"

Ian shrugged. "Yeah. Probably."

"Probably? I used to shower like twice a month," Mickey said. Ian laughed and Mickey took his hand. "Maybe it's better to have like, a companion. A partner. We had passion, yeah, but it burned out. So marry this guy and have a nice life."

"I told him I had to think about things. Take a break. Be apart and do some soul-searching. Like, that I'd either come back fully committed to being his husband or I'd give him back the ring and we'd break up."

"Just fucking say what you mean, Ian. What's this got to do with me? I don't do subtext," Mickey said.

"I just thought if we fucked, I could see if there's still something there. Like if it's still as good between us," Ian said.

Mickey froze. Yeah, he thought about Ian sometimes. He thought about how what they'd had had been amazing and something neither of them would ever find with anyone else. He'd thought about what a fucking waste it had been for Ian to turn away from something like that. He thought about how hard it was sometimes to be with Ian without _being_ with him. He wasn't sure he could let Ian fuck him as a way to confirm his commitment to some jerk Mickey had barely even met, even if being with Ian even for one night was pretty much irresistible to him.

Besides, god knows Mickey had never really had much luck saying no to Ian Gallagher.

"Like, now?" Mickey asked.

"I don't know. You smell like aftershave and cigarettes. Maybe you should stop washing and we can pick this up in a week or two," Ian said.

Mickey glared. "You wanna fuck me or not? I got shit to do later," he said.

Ian leaned down and Mickey tilted his mouth up to meet Ian's. The kiss was sweet at first, but then more demanding. It didn't feel familiar. It had been so long they'd forgotten the taste of each other. And everything else seemed a bit awkward, too. They both raised their arms at the same time and knocked hands, Mickey muttering, "Sorry" while Ian tried to deepen the kiss. It left Mickey sputtering and he was pretty sure he bit Ian's tongue a little.

"Maybe if we lie down," Ian said.

They moved from where they'd been standing in the hallway by the door of Mickey's apartment to Mickey's bed and laid down, fully clothed, on their sides, facing each other. Ian ran his palm down Mickey's arm. Mickey might have taken the gesture for smooth or loving once, but it just seemed cheesy now.

What the fuck were they doing?

Mickey closed his eyes, kind of disappointed in himself for not stopping this, and Ian kissed him lightly. Ian's tentativeness didn't do anything for him; it only served as a reminder that they really had no business being in bed together. Nevertheless, Ian's softly skillful lips were turning him on a little, now, so he tried to relax into the feeling.

That was when Ian shifted his position slightly and accidently punched Mickey in the balls.

"What the fuck, man?" Mickey asked, pushing Ian away.

"Shit," Ian said. He swiped at his mouth quickly, wiping away some moisture. "We got to forget about this. Apparently we're over each other."

Mickey watched as Ian sat up and adjusted his clothing, wincing and rubbing his junk, although the injury was more annoying than painful. "You couldn't figure that out before you punched me in the nuts?"

Ian smiled. "Nope," he said.

Mickey rolled his eyes at Ian's cute, unrepentant smile. He'd always secretly loved Ian's playful side. No one had ever teased Mickey the way Ian had. Everyone else had been afraid to. But something about Ian's smile was starting to ring alarm bells for Mickey. What the fuck was he so gleeful for?

"You that fuckin' happy about settling for this Chris guy?" Mickey asked.

"I think things'll change for us, now that I know it's really over between you and me," Ian said.

"So happy to have been of service," Mickey muttered. He watched Ian run his fingers through his hair in the bedroom mirror. Vain fucker. But something about Ian's smile was still bothering him. He followed Ian back into the other room and watched him put on his winter coat. Suddenly, the half-developed thought crystalized, and Mickey shoved Ian hard. "You fucker. Don't you dare fucking use me like that."

Ian pushed himself away from the wall, wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. "Jesus, Mickey. We're consenting adults and we only kissed a little. If I'd known you were so sensitive I wouldn't have asked."

"I'm not pissed about that, Ian. I'm pissed because you weren't honest about what you're doing here. I mean, for a minute there I thought you actually wanted me back. I thought you'd realized how good it was between us and what a fool you were to dump me. I should have known better, huh? Stupid. Fucking stupid," Mickey said, shaking his head.

"I never promised you anything, Mick. And I'm pretty sure I never said that was what this was about," Ian said. His face had gone red with anger and his fists were clenched, but he was staying, apparently, because he took off his winter coat and threw it on the sofa so violently Mickey half-expected it to bounce.

"No, you said it was about your feelings for this Chris guy. But it's not about your feelings for him, and it's not about your feelings for me. It's all just a goddamned excuse to go off your medication," Mickey said.

Ian threw his hands in the air. "And people say I'm crazy! What the fuck are you talking about?"

If Mickey hadn't known Ian so well, he would have been fooled. But there was a guilty twitch near Ian's lip and he wouldn't meet Mickey's eyes. "You think the reason you don't love this Chris guy the way you loved me is because you can't really love anyone on the pills, right? You're going to use this little fucking experiment to justify stopping your medication."

"It's just like you to play the 'Ian's unstable' card, just because you're hurt, Mickey. Fuck you. It's none of your business what I do."

"You made it my business when you decided to use this shitty night as a justification to ruin your whole life. Maybe you and Chad do have a good relationship. I don't doubt that. But going off your meds when they're working great won't make it even better. It'll make you do crazy shit and fuck around on him and maybe even ruin your health or get in trouble with the law. It's not the answer. If you don't love him, move the fuck on."

"You're wrong. You don't know anything about my life," Ian said. He shoved Mickey and Mickey shoved him back, then he pulled his fist back to punch Ian.

Ian leaned in, putting his arm around Mickey in a wrestler's hold so Mickey couldn't get the leverage to hit him properly. Mickey shifted his weight and pushed Ian against the back of the sofa. Ian looked like he fell heavily despite the padding on the sofa. He touched his ribs and scowled. "Fuck off, Mickey," he yelled.

Ian ran at Mickey recklessly and grabbed him around the waist in a football tackle. Mickey landed heavily on the floor, knowing the impact would hurt in a minute, but using their shared momentum to roll them so he was on top. He finally had the leverage to pull a punch, and he hit Ian in the face hard, then hit him again before Ian could react or Mickey could have time to register the pain in his hand.

Ian bucked beneath him but Mickey wouldn't budge. Ian hadn't been in Army Army shape for years, while Mickey had been fighting for his life in jail just months ago.

Mickey looked down at Ian's face, seeing the blood blooming on Ian's lip. Mickey was sure the expression on his own face was as sad as it was confused. Why did Ian feel so compelled to fuck up all the time? Why did he want to ruin everything that was beautiful in himself? Mickey leaned down, not sure if he wanted to hit Ian again or kiss him.

Ian made the choice for him, rotating his hips upwards into Mickey's ass, not in an effort to dislodge him, but to rub against him like a cat, his pupils blown with lust. Instinctively Mickey shifted his ass on Ian's dick, causing the man below him to groan.

Mickey reached for the hem of his shirt and whipped it off. Ian was already undoing Mickey's belt. As Mickey scrambled away to get on his hands and knees, Ian grabbed on to the back of Mickey's pants and pulled them down, and then wet fingers were roughly prepping him, probably with Ian's precome and spit.

And then Ian was in him, and there was pain, but it was okay. It only lasted a minute, and then there was the excitement, and the grunts and hasty tugs at Mickey's junk and the coming almost immediately because it was too fucking good for both of them.

Ian pulled out and Mickey glanced back with a kind of horror. "You just fucked me without a condom, didn't you?"

"I've had sex with one guy in the last year, Mick. I've had all my tests and I'm clean. Chris is clean too and far too boring to cheat. I know that's no excuse. That was a fucked up thing to do. Fucking unforgivable to fuck someone without a condom, especially without talking to them about it. So fucking sorry," Ian said. He was panting and red faced and Mickey wanted to kiss him. "I lost it. I lost control."

Mickey shrugged and tried to remember where he'd put his cigarettes. He reached over the edge of the sofa, grabbed Ian's coat and pulled it down to him and sat on the floor against the back of the sofa, looking through Ian's coat pockets. He found a pack and a lighter and took out a cigarette, tapping it absently on the top of the pack before he lit it, took a drag, and handed the cig to Ian.

Ian took a long drag and handed it back. "So it's not the medication."

Mickey inhaled. "Have you considering having Chad punch you in the face before sex? It seems to get your engines revved up."

"You _know_ his name is Chris," Ian said. He held his hand out for the cigarette and Mickey noticed his hands were shaking. "You've been calling him Chris all night."

"I didn't get raped in prison or anything. I'm not sick either," Mickey said. "If that's what you're getting so upset about."

"It's not that. Although I guess I should have thought about that, shouldn't I? I kind of wanted an excuse to quit being good and taking my meds, like you said. I mean, it wasn't like that. It was like one of my stupid manic plans, that I could stop taking my meds and suddenly all the parts of my relationship I didn't like would be all better. But then I came to you to help me make the decision, and so I guess in my heart I wanted to stay medicated. Cause no one knows me better than you, and knows how much the medication has helped me stay healthy better than you. I must have known you'd see through me. I'm upset because I've got to start all over. Single again."

"Did you already stop taking your pills?"

Ian laughed. "I used to be such a rebel, right? Now I'm scared to even be an hour late with my dosage. Big pharma saw _me_ coming a mile away."

"So what happens now?"

Ian sighed. "I guess I'll go back to Chris and tell him it's over. Maybe I can stay on your sofa for a while."

"Lots of room on the bed."

"Would you really take me back?"

"You taught me how to love you, Ian. You never taught me how to _stop_ loving you."

"You promise that you'll kick my ass if I hurt you again? You'll keep me in line?"

"Do not let my sex toys fool you, Ian. I'm not into that S&M shit."

"I don't mean that. I mean…I don't want to be Kenyatta. I don't want to abuse you and you put up with it because you love me and you think you're not worth anything. You're worth everything. Don't let me forget that just because you forgive me when I do the wrong thing doesn't give me the right to do it."

"You're not Kenyatta."

"You're worth everything. I fucking love you, Mick. So much. So much that I was so scared that you'd find me too difficult and leave. I was so afraid every day that day would be the day it was all too much for you. Or that I'd cheat on you or be mean to you and one day it would be one fuck-up too much and you'd hate me. I couldn't stand the suspense. I just walked away."

"Yeah, okay tough guy," Mickey said. He kissed Ian softly. "Just don't do it again."


	2. Chapter 2

"This is fucking weird, Ian," Mickey said again as they got into the elevator.

"I know. But he begged me to come. Said he had to talk to me tonight and if I felt uncomfortable coming back here, I could bring you along."

"Maybe he wants to have me killed while you watch or something," Mickey speculated.

Ian sighed. "He's not your dad. I don't know what he wants. But I feel like I owe him some closure, you know? From his perspective, things were amazing and we were building a life together and then I dumped him for no reason."

"You dumped him because he gave you a super-gay ring. Don't he know you're pretty butch?"

Ian laughed and walked up to the door at the end of the hall. Mickey wondered if he felt weird knocking, because he'd lived there for almost a year. His expression was pretty blank, and Mickey hoped he wasn't having regrets.

Chris was a good-looking guy who was about Ian's height and had brown hair cut in an expensive haircut and looked gym-fit. Mickey had met him once before at a party and he had this thing where he looked through Mickey, like Mickey wasn't a real person, but otherwise seemed pretty nice. Whatever he really felt about Mickey, he had manners. He opened the door for them and let them in, telling them to make themselves comfortable in the living room.

Mickey looked around the apartment. It was expansive, well-decorated, and probably cost about a million dollars, considering the neighborhood it was in. "You _lived_ here?" Mickey asked.

Ian shrugged. "Pretty nice, right?"

Mickey was surprised to see Lip and Fiona Gallagher waiting in the living room.

Ian instantly got defensive and said, "Why the fuck are _you_ here?"

"Chris called us. He's concerned about the way you're acting, Ian," Fiona said.

"What the fuck is Mickey doing here?" Lip asked.

"This like an intervention or something?" Mickey asked.

Ian turned to leave and Mickey grabbed him. "Where you going?"

"I dumped the guy so he's going to try to convince everyone I'm crazy. I don't want to be a part of it," he said.

Mickey thought that leaving seemed like a really good plan, not sure how the last few weeks would look to an outsider (Mandy had thought _he_ was insane for taking Ian back, so he could only imagine what Ian's people thought about them getting back together), so he followed Ian towards the door. Ian stopped walking so abruptly that Mickey almost crashed into him when a professional-looking black woman of about fifty came in the room. "Ian, please, I think you need to listen to what your friends and family have to say," she said.

"You don't understand what's happening here, Dr. K. I'm fine. Better than I've been in a long time."

"You signed an agreement when I accepted you as a patient that said you'd listen to your friends and family when they had concerns about your moods. They're partners in your treatment. Your judgement isn't always sound and I can't be observing you all the time. Maybe their concerns aren't justified, but you should hear them out. You _agreed_ to hear them out."

Ian looked really defeated, like he had when he'd voluntarily committed himself after the thing with Yevgeny. Mickey took his hand and squeezed.

"Will you stay?" Ian whispered.

"Course I will," Mickey said.

"They're probably gonna say I'm crazy for wanting you," Ian said. "You can't kick anyone in the nuts for saying it, though. It'd just prove their point."

Mickey shrugged. "Like they're going to be the first to say that shit? Although, did you see that fuckin' view? Maybe they got a point."

Ian laughed and threw an arm around Mickey's shoulder. "Stay golden Ponyboy."

"I don't know what you heard, but I ain't into no Pony-play," Mickey said, pretending not to get the reference. Ian grinned and saw through him, as usual.

They sat in a circle in the living room. Ian was between Fiona and Mickey on the sofa, with Lip in an armchair on Fiona's left. Dr. K sat beside Lip on an armchair of her own, and then there was an older, well-dressed couple sitting on kitchen chairs, Chris in an armchair, and one of Ian's friends from work, Ella, looking uncomfortable beside Mickey on what appeared to be a bar-stool.

"Let's start with Ella. You've been asked to think about how Ian's been acting lately. Could you tell us your thoughts?"

She shrugged. She was a pretty blond girl who wore too much makeup. Mickey knew her a little from hanging around Ian's work waiting to get off. Er, waiting for _him_ to get off. She was cool and actually one of Ian's better friends these days. Ian must have put her on a list of people close to him that he'd given to his therapist, although she looked a little uncomfortable at being included. "He's been really good. Happier than I've ever seen him. He's been talking about quitting the diner and going back to school."

Mickey knew how Ian would interpret this. He would think Dr. K would see it as being way too happy, making plans and dropping them, and leaving his routine for an unrealistic goal. He grabbed Ian's hand with both of his and held on tight. Ian continued to look at the floor.

Dr. K gestured to Chris. He spoke up. "We were doing great. Everything was perfect. It's not like the ring was unexpected. We'd talked about getting married before. We had this perfect evening at an expensive restaurant, and I asked you if you wanted to marry me. You took the ring and said you weren't sure. Next thing I know you're moving all your things out and living with your criminal ex-boyfriend who just got out of jail. Doing uncharacteristic things? Risky behavior? It's textbook, Ian. Your meds aren't working the way they should, if you're even taking them anymore."

The doctor gestured to the older couple, who Mickey assumed were Chris' parents. The woman spoke up. "Ian, you know we love you. We know you didn't have any kind of relationship with your own parents, and we care about you like you're our own son. We don't say these things to hurt you. But we were so concerned and saddened when we heard that you broke up with Chris. We know you have a past, and we know all about this new boyfriend of yours. I hired a PI when Chris told us there was another man involved. This Milkovich character was in jail for attempted murder. He tried to kill your sister. He got in so many fights in prison that the PI thought he must be connected to the mafia to be in trouble so much and still manage to get out so soon. Did you know he killed a man in prison? He killed his _own father_ in prison. He's not a healthy choice. He's not the choice a healthy person would make."

Chris' father nodded, and didn't say anything.

The doctor turned to Lip, who said, "I didn't even know you and Chris broke up. If you really believe you're healthy, why hide what's going on in your life from me? I'm supposed to be your best friend. You're with Mickey again? Jesus, Ian. Like moving in with Mickey and his brothers and his assault rifles isn't going to be stressful. You know stress fucks with your levels. You two love each other like crazy, but you were doing so well with Chris. You going to risk your sanity for this thug?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. Lip was such a dick.

Fiona was next, and she took Ian's other hand; the one Mickey wasn't holding. "Ian, I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe Chris has a point. Think of the way Monica used to use us as an excuse to leave whatever life she'd built that suddenly got to be too much for her. We'd think she remembered how much she loved us, but really she was just hiding out somewhere she felt safe where she knew she wouldn't be turned away. Don't use Mickey that way. He loves you too much for you to do that to him."

"Ian? Can you tell me your thoughts right now?" the doctor said.

Ian said nothing, and looked at the floor. It kind of pissed Mickey off. "What, don't I get to fuckin' talk?" he found himself saying.

"Are you going to say something productive or just attack everyone?" Lip asked.

"You guys are all acting like you know what Ian's like when he's manic. I'm the only one who really knows that. Well, me and Ian. You and Fiona have heard about it and you've seen a little bit of it, but I'm the one who was with him day in and day out when he was really bad."

"Do you think Ian's medication is working?" the doctor asked.

"I think it works fine. Chris, you seem like an okay guy. Whatever. But the night you described and Ian's reaction to it sounds perfectly reasonable to me. You know what that same night would have been like with manic Ian? He would have greeted you at the door with a blow-job, then talked to you non-stop until you got to the restaurant about a bunch of weird shit that didn't really make sense. He would have ordered tons of food and then be too busy talking to eat it—or maybe too busy trying to convince you or a stranger to get off with him in the bathroom. He probably would have made a big production of getting the food he didn't eat wrapped up for homeless people or something and obsessed about giving it away for like half an hour but in the end forgot it on the table. Anyway, you get to the point where you ask him to marry you. He would have seen the ring, said yes and made a big scene, whether he wanted to marry you or not, and then you would have gone back to the apartment for like three, four rounds in the bedroom. He would be too keyed-up because of the engagement to sleep, so he'd go for a three-hour run where he'd probably fuck some guy he met in the park or something. Then he'd cook you an amazing breakfast, and when you got back from work that day, he'd be gone and wouldn't come back for a week, or maybe he'd be fucking your best friend on your bed. And that's not even mentioning the hallucinations and paranoia."

Ian looked up at Mickey and smiled slightly, squeezing his hand.

"What are you saying, Mickey? Ian's behavior isn't extreme enough? His medication could be partially working," the doctor said.

"I'm saying Ian doesn't need an intervention just because he dumped his boyfriend. Ian's medication is working fine. You're all asking the question 'does dumping Chris to go out with Mickey make Ian crazy' when you should be asking the question 'is Ian acting like he has bipolar symptoms'. Basically, Ian's fine, and who he goes out with is none of any of your fucking business."

"Okay. Thoughts, Ian?" the doctor asked.

"I know Mickey doesn't look good on paper. I mean, yeah, he tried to hurt Sammy. What the PI report doesn't say is that it was because Sammy ratted me out to the military police and Mickey was going crazy, stressing out and worrying that it would be a huge setback for me. If he'd been rich he probably could have pleaded temporary insanity and gotten away with it. He was at his breaking point. It also doesn't say that he wasn't trying to kill Sammy—something went wrong when he and my other sister were trying to punish her for what she'd done, and they thought she was dead so they got rid of the body. My sister's testimony would have probably meant Mickey served less time, but he wouldn't let her say she was anywhere nearby that night, let alone in on the plan with him, because he was protecting her. He only got in so many fights in prison because I forced him to come out as gay even though he didn't want to because he'd do anything for me because he's crazy about me. And he's not living with his brothers and he doesn't have any assault rifles. He learned to be an electrician in prison and he's working steady these days, which you'd know if you ever got back to the old neighborhood, Lip."

"Nothing you say is going to make me seem like a sane choice, Ian," Mickey said. "The real question is, do you think your medication is working?"

Ian looked in Mickey's eyes. "I do. I mean, shit's hell on your liver and it can fill your body up with toxins. I wouldn't take it if I didn't think it was helping me. I finally feel sane enough to go back to school and get a college degree. I always thought finals would make me crazy, you know? But I thought I could handle it now. And I thought I could be the kind of boyfriend you deserve. The kind of boyfriend you were to me."

"As much as I don't personally get why anyone would want to go out with Mickey, he genuinely loves Ian. If you think he'd let Ian go off his meds just to get back with him, Chris, you're wrong. Mickey would never do that. Mickey would rather lose Ian than see him unhealthy. And he does have a real sense of what Ian being bipolar means and I'm not sure you do. Mickey's pretty selfless when it comes to Ian," Lip said.

"And the way Mickey described how un-medicated Ian would act is a lot closer to the mark than what you're describing, Chris. You've never seen how bad it can get. Ian's been great lately, and I guess I was thinking it was because he was with you. I'm sorry Ian, I should have given you the credit for taking care of your illness yourself, and not thinking Chris was taking care of it for you. You were the one being strict about taking your pills and following your schedule and meditating and knowing what you could handle. No one else could do that for you," Fiona said. She laughed. "God knows if someone else could have done it for you Mickey or I would have had a better time of it back when you were a kid."

Ian let go of Mickey's hand and hugged Fiona. He turned to Chris. "I know you think that I left you because I was scared. Well, I was. I was so scared of never feeling the kind of love I felt with Mickey ever again. You and I…we got along great. The sex was great. Our life was great. If I hadn't been with Mickey first, I never would have known that great isn't enough. Love can't be explained by who looks good on paper or what the healthy choice is. And I was so fucking stupid I thought that I could have those feelings for you if I stopped my meds. Like it was the pills that were keeping me from feeling it. That's why I went to Mickey. I thought if I couldn't rekindle those feelings with him on my meds, maybe what I'd felt for him all those years ago had just been like a contact high from a manic episode."

"What the fuck, Ian!" Lip said.

"Don't worry, Lip. I didn't stop my dosage and Mickey figured out what I was doing and already kicked my ass over it. Mickey and I talked and I realized that stopping my medication would only mess things up even more, and besides, the way I love Mickey, the intensity of it, had nothing to do with me being sick. I can't stop loving Mickey any more than he can stop loving me."

"And I have _definitely_ tried," Mickey muttered, surprising a quiet laugh out of Ella.

"We want you to agree to a voluntary commitment, Ian," Chris' father said. "I'll pay for the whole thing."

"I really don't think that would be productive," Dr. K said. "Ian doesn't seem to present a danger to himself or others, and he's not as vulnerable as you seem to think. He's mentally ill, not stupid. None of the people in the room who _know_ Mickey feel he presents a danger to Ian, and I agree with Mickey that we can't undermine Ian's personal freedom or his confidence because of his diagnosis. Basically, he has as much right as anyone to make a mistake, if indeed he's making a mistake."

"He said Mickey kicked his ass. This guy is violent and abusive. He killed someone in prison," Chris said.

"First of all, Mickey paid the penalty for the bad things he's done, and if you were really as liberal as you pretended to be you'd be all about him having a second chance. Secondly, I don't need protection from Mickey or anyone else. Sometimes I don't know how to say something with words and I throw a punch, too. Ask Lip. It's not abuse—it's the way people talk to one another in my neighborhood. I don't want Mickey treating me like I'm made of glass. He did that before and it pissed me off. We roughhouse, we wrestle, and sometimes we actually fist fight. But ever since we started being a couple, Mickey's always treated me like an equal no matter what. Shit, he's my best friend. He's not a bully to me, ever," Ian said. "If anything, he sticks up for me more than I'd like him to and doesn't stand up _to_ me nearly enough. I can fight my own battles."

"Yeah, Mickey is like one of those pit-bulls that got rescued from a dog-fighting ring, but can be rehabilitated by the right owner. He's a loyal, protective little shit if he decides you're someone he cares about," Lip said. "He snaps a little when strangers try to pet him, though, so I wouldn't get any ideas."

"It's not domestic abuse if I fuckin' hit _you_ ," Mickey said. Lip smirked in reply, of course.

Ian rolled his eyes and turned back to his ex. "You're the one who's making me feel bad about myself, Chris. You convinced all these people to come here and basically question my sanity because I did something you didn't like. Is that what you would have done if I decided I didn't want to adopt a kid? If I decided I wanted to go back to school and you didn't think I was ready? I don't need someone to tell me how to live my life," Ian said.

"But Mickey is—"

"Can you listen to Ian's words? It ain't actually about me. He left you because you asked him to marry you and he didn't want to. And as soon as he left you it became none of your damned business who he was with," Mickey said.

Lip smirked. "I hate to say it, but I think I actually missed you, Mickey," he said.

Fiona smiled. "Mickey's family," she said. She turned to Chris. "Looks, thanks for your concern, Chris, but Ian's fine. We got this. _Ian's_ got this. And while I'm happy to have come here and made sure your worries were unfounded, you can keep your concerns about Ian's choices to yourself in the future, got it?"

After that, Chris didn't seem to have any trouble letting go.


	3. Chapter 3

Ian realized after a few weeks that other than Ella, most of his friends had really been Chris' friends, and he lost them in the breakup. Mickey reminded him that he'd make all kinds of friends when he started school in a few weeks, which seemed to cheer him up, but he could tell Ian was still a little depressed watching Mickey get ready to go out on trivia night.

"Why don't you come with me?" Mickey asked.

Mickey had gone to a gay pub one night just after getting out of prison, not knowing it was trivia night, to try to get off. He had been pulled onto a trivia team that hadn't let him go, even now, months later. He actually liked the guys. Two, Marcus and Troy, were married to each other and queenish-enough to make Mickey raise his eyebrows about every forty seconds. Bobby was older, probably well-off, and had a disturbing tendency to run his hands along Mickey's forearms, but he meant well. Lucas was an IT guy who'd sworn off love and went on and on about how he was such a geek no one would ever want him. Mickey didn't think he was so bad, and had even considered asking him out, but he was glad he hadn't, now.

Ian was so shy and awkward when he met the guys that Mickey realized he was nervous about fitting in with Mickey's friends. It wasn't until that moment that Mickey actually realized the guys _did_ mean something to him.

Trust Ian to know Mickey actually liked his friends before Mickey did himself.

Mickey smiled at them and asked, "Is it okay if my boyfriend tries out for the team?"

They were happy to have him join and looked at Ian with the kind of dazed, flattered look that lots of gay guys got when Ian talked to them, like he was royalty or a celebrity and was honoring them by noticing they were there at all. Some gay guys cared way too much about looks—well, maybe that was just guys in general.

Ian wasn't very good at trivia, but none of them really were. They had fun even though they never won. Mickey and Ian didn't drink much anymore, but the other guys drank more than normal that night and they were one of the loudest tables in the joint.

When Ian got up to go to the washroom, Bobby took Mickey aside as they were waiting for their drinks at the bar. "I remember your friend from Fairytale. You know he was a dancer, right? He was a real party-boy back then. He seems different now."

Mickey shrugged. "We got no secrets about our pasts, if that's what you're trying to imply. I've known Ian a long time, and nothing about that kid scares me except the thought of losing him again."

"I'm glad to hear it. I…He seems very sincere. I wish someone had _ever_ looked at me the way he looks at you, actually. I just didn't want to think you were being led down the garden path by someone who didn't take relationships as seriously as you do," Bobby said.

"No one takes our relationship as seriously as Ian," Mickey said, rolling his eyes a little, thinking about Ian's tendency to be melodramatic when discussing their relationship. "It's the real thing, you know?"

"I'm very happy for you, then. I hope you'll accept my apology for overstepping," Bobby said.

Mickey looked at Bobby. He was old and fey and a bit grabby, but Mickey knew Bobby actually cared about him. He smiled slightly. "Yeah, you don't have to apologize. I don't think anyone has ever worried about someone taking advantage of _me_ before. Kind of nice to know someone cares," he said.

"It's just, you were always staunchly single and suddenly there's this beautiful boy who you look at like he created blow-jobs, and I happen to remember he used to trick downtown," Bobby said. He sighed and raised his hands as if in surrender. "I'm not judging, I swear."

"We kind of went from zero to sixty pretty fast this time, but believe me. The first time around it took us years to get it right."

"I think you broke Lucas' heart. He really liked you," Bobby said.

"I almost asked him out, too. But you know what? He's way too nice for me. I like 'em tough," Mickey said.

Ian had been back from the washroom for a while, and he'd sat down at the table to give Mickey and his friend the privacy to talk. When Mickey came back from the bar, Ian asked, "He remembers me from Fairytale, right?"

"Please tell me he wasn't someone you fucked," Mickey said.

"No, actually, I just thought someone like him would have gone there."

"That bother you?"

"Guys recognizing me? No. Not really. Does it bother you?"

"What do you think?" Mickey asked. "I did more crazy things before I was fifteen than you did your whole life. And I didn't have any kind of excuse. And thinking of you in those sexy shorts gets me kinda hard."

Ian smiled. "Oh yeah?"

"Definitely," Mickey said.

He leaned over and kissed Ian, and then they were making out at their table like teenagers to the wolf-whistles of Mickey's trivia team.

All-in-all, Mickey's friends warmed up to Ian a lot faster than Ian's eventual group of college friends warmed up to Mickey, not that Mickey found that surprising. Ian was a shit-ton more likable than Mickey, and Mickey didn't usually make much of an effort with people.

It was months later, February, when Ian begged Mickey to take him to a Valentines' Day dance he and his friends had put together at the college as a fundraiser for something. Mickey had agreed, thinking Valentines was not something he should even attempt to weasel his way out of considering his shitty record of letting Ian down in those romantic relationship milestones that seemed to mean so much to him.

Something about the way Ian kept on squeezing Mickey's hand and letting go and holding it again reminded him of that night at trivia, and so Mickey tried his best to be friendly. Ian had wanted Mickey's weirdo trivia team to like him for Mickey's sake, so Mickey should make the effort with Ian's odd-ball mature-student study group to make his boyfriend happy.

Mickey had sat and listened to them jaw about their inside jokes and their teachers and all the shit they were learning, trying to keep his face friendly and not scowl at being excluded (and to not scowl because it was kind of his face's default setting, either). Ian realized after a while that neither Mickey, nor any of the study groups' other partners, had said much for the entire night because the people in the group who knew each other had been too busy talking to each other.

He pulled Mickey out of his chair and said, "Dance with me."

Mickey felt like a fucking loser, but if history had taught him anything, it was that Ian could convince him to do absolutely anything. He sighed and followed his boyfriend out onto the dancefloor.

"You ever go to any school dances?" Ian asked.

"What do you think?"

"Imagine if we'd hooked up like in middle school? If we'd danced behind the bleachers and fallen in love as kids?"

"I was a dick in middle school. You were better off not being in love with me back then," Mickey said.

"I always thought you were so cool. You know I always wanted to be around you? Have you notice me? I never thought about you like—like you'd ever like me. It wasn't like I was into you. But I had these fantasies where you'd stand up to bullies for me and then we'd smoke by the dumpsters. I wanted to be your friend."

"Back then _I_ was the bully. I would have been a bad friend to you, although I probably needed a friend more than anything."

Ian gave him a quick hug. "I can't believe I got to be your friend. I can't believe you agreed to come to a Valentines dance with me. I can't believe you love me, even after I fucked everything up. How'd I get so lucky?"

"You make it worth my while," Mickey said, looking at Ian coyly.

When they got back to the table, a little Asian girl whose name Mickey couldn't remember grabbed Ian and pulled him onto the dancefloor where they danced to some club song together. A couple of the others (Mickey had learned a total of zero names) got up to go check out the snack table, and Mickey was left alone with a Latino woman who was in her forties who was attending college because she wanted to start a business or something.

"We love Ian," she said. Her voice was defensive, and Mickey smirked slightly. He was about to get the 'you hurt him and we hurt you' speech from a bunch of people who'd only known Ian for a few months when he'd pretty much appointed himself Ian's chief protector years ago.

"Everybody loves Ian," Mickey said.

"He's got friends, you know. People who look out for him," she said. "We know that even though he's tall and strong he's…vulnerable. We won't let him get hurt."

"I won't let him get hurt either," Mickey said. "Besides, he's not as vulnerable as you seem to think. He's been through a lot. He may look adorable, but he's actually really tough."

"We don't know what to think of you. Some of the things Ian says…I know he's got this crazy family who doesn't know any better than to let him spend time with someone like you, but he's got people to look out for him now."

Mickey fought down his instinctive reaction to lash out at someone who was coming at him, and actually smiled a little. As much as he wanted to fuck up this presumptuous bitch, he remembered Ian telling him all sorts of stories about the woman. How she brought Ian cookies, and had offered to teach Ian how to cook. They'd had tea together, for Christ sake, and Mickey knew Ian saw her as a kind of mother-figure, something that was lacking in both their lives.

Mickey was actually happy that Ian had people who were looking out for him. For a really long time Mickey had been the only one who seemed to be interested in looking out for the kid. And Ian had never made it easy for anyone to protect him, although he'd calmed down a lot. Mickey would use all the help he could get. Ian did seem to have a weird instinct to do the wrong thing whenever possible. Mickey thought that was more of a Gallagher thing than a bipolar thing. "I'm glad. I never worry about Ian making friends—he makes friends wherever he goes. But I worry sometimes that his friends are gonna take advantage of him. People have before. He can be naïve, you know?"

She looked a bit unsure. "I heard you were in jail. What was that about?"

"Someone hurt him, so I hurt her," Mickey said, his voice hard. "So you don't got to worry about me hurting Ian. I can. I'm not saying me hurting Ian is impossible because I've done it before. I've probably hurt him more than anyone, when we were kids and I was a fucking idiot. But I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making up for it."

"You've known each other a long time?"

Mickey smiled, glancing over at the hotness that was Ian dancing. "He's the boy next door."

"You should come out with us. We go out to pubs sometimes after class."

"Sure," Mickey said.

It was something he and Ian had talked about. It had been tragic and beautiful when it had just been the two of them against the world, but it had been hard. And tragic. They needed help sometimes. Everyone did. They had to have a bunch of people keeping the both of them honest. Making them each remember that the straight life—medicated and in therapy in Ian's case, level-headed and free of criminal activity in Mickey's—was worth it. There were simple pleasures in life. Mickey really liked doing Ian's laundry. Ian loved cooking for Mickey and Yevgeny. They had to fill their life up with people who would be healthy for them.

Because they were both better together than either one of them were apart. And they couldn't be together if Mickey was in jail, or Ian was off somewhere being manic.

Though their spokesperson had softened significantly that first night after talking with Mickey, it took a while for the group to realize that Mickey was actually good for Ian. They'd warned Ian that even if Mickey meant well, some relationships were just toxic. Ian had told them all to fuck off and ranted to Mickey about how it wasn't any of their fucking business, and Mickey and argued that Ian should be happy he had friends who cared.

In the end, they had gotten along, although since Mickey wasn't a fellow student, he'd never really got the inside jokes.

Mickey got the idea that they thought he was rough—specifically, rough with Ian. Like, borderline physically and mentally abusive. Mickey was always afraid he was going to be like that—like his dad had been. One of the best parts about being gay, though, was that Ian wasn't some delicate little thing. When Ian was cut and strong (and he'd been working out, much to Mickey's secret delight, and was getting back into shape), he was pretty well perfectly matched with Mickey in a fight. Not that punching a lover wasn't completely dysfunctional even if they could (and would) punch you back just as hard, but it reassured Mickey that he'd never turn into a complete bully.

They all realized that Ian was a tough Southside kid himself one night when Mickey had agreed to join them in a pub despite being tired and worried that Ian's meds were messing up. Actually, it was his worry that Ian's meds weren't doing their thing that had made him agree to go despite looking and feeling like shit after a long run of tough but lucrative jobs that week.

Ian greeted Mickey as though he was some kind of hero for showing up, which was his first clue something weird was going on. Ian was always happy to see him, but he was just a little too happy. His eyes were a bit wide, too.

"You been drinkin'?" he asked.

"No Mick," Ian said, grinning and shaking his head.

Ian's friends all said a restrained hello, and Mickey wondered what was up. They were probably just judging Mickey for policing Ian's drinking, but he wasn't sure.

He got his answer when a sketchy-looking guy sat down at the vacant chair, putting a beer in front of Ian. "There you go, honey. That'll put hair on your chest."

It was more Ian's friends' reaction than the words or the beer or even Ian's wince that let Mickey know what was going on. This guy—this gross freak who wasn't even hot—was coming on to Ian and Ian had been into it. Knowing Ian when he was under-medicated, he might have actually fooled around with the guy. He could even be dating him. No wonder his college friends looked uncomfortable.

Mickey pushed the sinking feeling of having to go through all of this shit again away and just thought about Ian. Ian was the last person who wanted to cheat, and he was happy with Mickey. There was time to fucking sob about this shit later. He pushed the beer away. "Ian doesn't drink," he said.

"Oh, I know Ian pretty well," the jerk said, his look knowing.

"Mickey knows me better. He's my boyfriend," Ian said.

Mickey almost laughed at the panicked look in his boyfriend's eyes, and the particular emphasis he'd given his words, like he was trying to tell gross-guy to fucking cool it and pretend nothing had happened between them.

But it wasn't really funny.

Gross guy looked bizarrely betrayed. "You never told me you had a boyfriend. I wouldn't have—"

It was at that point Ian head-butted the guy. He was sketchy enough that he bounced back from it pretty quick and took a few swings at Ian, but there was no contest. Pretty soon Ian was punching the guy way too hard for a simple bar-brawl, and Mickey knew he had to step in. He stepped between them, shouting, grabbing a hold of Ian and pushing him backwards until Ian's back hit the back of the bar.

"Stop it, Ian! Fuck," Mickey said.

Ian strained against him, still in attack mode, and Mickey pushed him back against the bar harder. Mickey looked back at Gross-Guy and said, "Get the fuck out of here, man!"

The other guy shook his head and said to Ian, "Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking psycho," and left the bar.

The bartender told them to get out, and Mickey followed Ian outside. Thankfully fuckhead hadn't stuck around. Ian was pacing around and Mickey wanted to grab him and fucking shake him but he knew that wasn't the right approach. He let Ian pace for a little bit, planning what he was going to say. He always said the wrong thing—maybe today he wouldn't.

Of fucking course at that moment Ian's stupidly big group of friends came out of the pub. They all sort of stood, awkwardly, looking at each other and avoiding Mickey's eyes. Finally Mickey took pity on them and said, "If he starts acting like that again, call me, okay?"

"Oh, what, you're my fucking keeper now?" Ian said. His voice was cruel, and Mickey hated that now they were all going to think Mickey was the one being abused.

"Come the fuck on, Ian. Take a minute. Take a deep breath. For me," Mickey said.

He was still pacing, and Mickey took his arm and pulled Ian closer, rubbing his arm. Ian looked at him for what seemed like the first time all night. "It wasn't that bad, Mick. Just flirting. And we made out a little. I swear. Nothing else."

Mickey tried to ignore the shot of pain in his chest at the thought of Ian kissing someone else. "His number in your phone?"

Ian took his phone out of his pocket and threw it on the ground and stepped on it like an angry kidnapper from a movie. It surprised an indignant laugh out of Mickey. "This is why we can't have nice things, Gallagher. Jesus, calm the fuck down."

"Yeah, 'cause telling people to calm down always works," Ian ground out through clenched teeth.

"I hope I have your doctor's phone number in my phone, because you are definitely getting your appointment moved up," Mickey said.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it," Ian said.

"Relax. I mean, take some deep breaths. Meditate or whatever. I gotta get an Uber, you know, since you just crushed your phone," Mickey said.

"I'll get one," one of Ian's friend's said.

"Thanks," Mickey said.

Whatever Ian said to them later to excuse his behaviour, they all seemed closer after that night, and they were always happy to see Mickey. Somehow they respected him after that—though he wasn't really sure why. He supposed they would have expected him to beat the shit out of Ian for kind of sort of cheating, but he hadn't even really remarked on it. It made Mickey feel like a pussy, but Ian gave him so many apology blowjobs in the following weeks he got over it.

The medication thing wasn't as bad as Mickey and Ian were worried it was going to be. Ian's doctor had been trying to phase out a medication with some annoying side effects, and this was a clear indication that if it was going to go, something would have to replace it. Ian was disappointed, but he relied on his medication to keep him from acting in ways that would ruin the life he wanted—the life he'd built with Mickey. He really wanted to be the kind of person he'd been before he'd gone off the rails…reliable, steady, someone the people he loved could count on.

Mickey had always counted on him, and even after all the crazy shit they'd been through, he couldn't ever really bring himself to regret it.


End file.
